And lowering his head like a bull, he drove forward against the crowd. Harrigan caught the idea in a flash. He put his shoulder to the hip of his friend. They became a flying wedge with the jabbing fists of the black-haired man for a point--and they sank into the mass of soldiers like a hot knife into butter, shearing them apart. There were few who wished more action, for the police reserves were capturing man after man. One or two resisted, but a revolver fired straight in the air put a sudden period to such thoughts. The crowd scattered in all directions and Harrigan was taking to his heels among the rest when an iron hand caught his shoulder and jerked him to a halt. It was the black-haired man. "Easy," he cautioned. He pulled a cap out and settled it upon his head. Harrigan followed suit with his soft hat. "Are you after givin' yourself away to the law?" he queried, bewildered. "Steady, you fool," said the other; "they're only after the ones who run away." An excited Kanaka confronted them with brandished club. "What's the cause of the disturbance, officer?" asked the big man. The policeman for answer waved them away and darted after a running soldier. "I'll be damned!" murmured Harrigan, and his eyes dwelt on his companion's face almost tenderly. They were at the edge of the crowd when a shrill voice called: "Those two big men! Halt 'em! Stand!" Officer Akana ran through the crowd with his regulation Colt brandished above his head. "The time's come!" said Harrigan's new friend, and broke into a run. CHAPTER 2 They were past the thick of the mob now and they dodged rapidly among the cottages until the clamor of police fell away to a murmur behind them, and they swung out onto the narrow, dark street which led back toward the heart of Honolulu. For ten minutes they strode along without a word. Under the light of a street lamp they stopped of one accord. "I'm McTee." "I'm Harrigan." The gripping of the hands was more than fellowship; it was like a test of strength which left each uncertain of the other's resources. They were exactly opposite types. McTee was long of face, with an arched, cruel nose, gleaming eyes, heavy, straight brows which pointed up and gave a touch of the Mephistophelian to his expression, a narrow, jutting chin, and lips habitually compressed to a thin line. It was a handsome face, in a way, but it showed such a brutal dominance that it inspired fear first and admiration afterward. Such a man must command. He might be only the boss of a gang of laborers, or he might be a financier, but never in any case an underling. Altogether he combined physical and intellectual strength to such a degree that both men and women would have stopped to look at him, and once seen he would be remembered.